Page 109 of Play the Game
Austin stares at Milo, his mouth opening and closing like he’s trying to figure out what to say. I’m positive he has never been so neatly put in his place in his entire life, and my only regret right now is that I wasn’t the one to do it. And that I don’t take a picture of his dumbfounded expression before he pulls himself up to his full height, nodding like being dismissed was his plan all along. “That sounds fine,” he says crisply. “I’ve got center ice seats for the hockey game next week, and I would love for you and your beautiful wife to join me.”
“I’ll let you know.” Milo’s tone is bored and Austin seems to finally get the hint, mumbling a goodbye and slinking out of the conference room, closing the door behind him just a little harder than is absolutely necessary.
Asshole.
“Not fucking likely,” Milo mutters.
“Not a hockey fan?” I ask blandly.
Milo rolls his eyes. “Not an Austin fan.”
“Yeah, well, get in line.”
Shit.
“Sorry, that was an inside thought. It’s probably pretty unprofessional to badmouth the partner who brought you to this firm.”
“Why do you think Austin brought me to this firm?”
I frown, thinking back. “He told us. It was right around the time I started here. Two years ago, maybe? He said he had enticed you to leave your representation at the time and come here because of the strength of our IP group.”
“Yeah, the strength of your IP group. The strength meaning you. It’s not a coincidence that I switched firms when you started here, Evan. I came here for you.”
I came here for you.
What the fuck?
“Hang on,” I say, my brain working overtime to try and figure this out. “I need more information.”
Milo smiles. “Your third year of law school, you wrote a law review article on new approaches to litigation in the pharmaceutical industry. You argued, very persuasively, that regular litigation tactics and procedures are ill-equipped to keep pace with the lightning-fast advancements in the field, and you laid out a roadmap for what the litigation of the future might look like, using an interdisciplinary approach that includes science and the law.”
“You read my law review article?”
Milo nods. “Read it, drove my wife and everyone I work with insane talking about it incessantly for months, and made it my entire personality. I followed your career—not in the creepy way, I swear.” He gives me a wry smile, and I laugh, a little incredulous. “When you started here, the timing was right for me to change counsel anyway, so I made the move too. I’ve been biding my time ever since.”
“Biding your time for what?”
“To offer you a job.”
“I have a job,” I say automatically.
“I know,” Milo says simply. “And I’d like to offer you a different one.”
I think about Austin bursting in here, ready to shove me aside. Him asking Cooper to review my work, as if Cooper and I aren’t on the same level. His just-on-the-edge-of-hostile attitudesince he found out I was pregnant. All the times I kept my mouth shut so he would see me as a team player or one of the guys. Black coffee. Heels that hurt my feet and uncomfortable clothes and early mornings and late nights and working five times as hard as any man to get half the recognition. I sit back in my chair, crossing one leg over the other. “Okay, I’ll bite. What’s the job?”
Milo gives me his sharp, captain-of-industry smile. The one that tells me I’m talking to CEO Milo Pierre right now. “General Counsel of Pierre Pharma. Since I started the company ten years ago, aside from a small in-house compliance team, I’ve relied almost exclusively on outside counsel. I’d like for you to change that.”
I stare at him. “You want me to be the general counsel of your entire company? You know I’m only a seventh-year associate, right? Lawyers for pharma typically have, like, double that experience before they go in house.”
Milo shrugs, unbothered. “I’m not trying to hire other lawyers. I’m trying to hire you. I’ve been working with you for two years, Evan. I know what you’re capable of. I want you to come work with me and build the legal department from the ground up. You’ll have unlimited discretion on hiring. I was thinking three lawyers working under you to start, along with the requisite number of support staff, but I defer to you on that.”
“When?” I ask.
“When what?”
“When did you anticipate this happening? In case you forgot, I have a bit of a life situation happening in, like, eight weeks.”
Milo laughs. “Evan, I’ve waited to hire you for more than seven years. I can definitely wait eight weeks, plus, obviously, whatever maternity leave you decide to take. You tell me what you need, and we’ll make it happen. I’m sure my human resources department would frown on me saying this to you, but you can have literally whatever you want.
